Mosaic
by beautyofsorrow
Summary: Memory to her is past, present, future - the happening now and the yet to come inextricably entwined with yesterday's joys and fears. Through it all she smiles, watching her loved ones' lives begin, unfold, and continue on.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor claim to own any of the following characters, places, or events. Just the story.

**Author's Note: **Another flashfic series, this one spanning all seven seasons (and before & beyond). Multiple POV, though I suspect there will be special attention to the infamous Voyager Couple. Ongoing, so keep an eye out for updates. **  
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><p><span>Mosaic<span>  
>by Dax's10thHost<p>

Time tangles around me like yarn around a kitten, winding in and out and through me in a dance only it knows. I have no body, but my mind is clear, though not defined by the limits of a physical world. I span the gap of eternity, undulating through the past, present, and future in a way that blends them all together into one marvelous tapestry of memory.

It is a strange thing, this memory. Once it meant proof of existence, and beauty, and smiles, and sometimes tears or a constriction of my chest. But I have a chest no longer, and I cannot smile visibly. For some, this would be an unbearable handicap. But my time-thought-memory smile is greater and more freeing than any expression formed by muscle and bone.

I smile now as I weave myself into the fabric of time, touching a memory here, there, one that has not happened, one that happens now, another that took place yesterday and will change her life forever. (_I…I love you._) I smile because I see what happens and will happen in my friends' lives, these people whom I left behind but did not (do not, will not) abandon.

I am with them always—past, present, future—though they'll never know it, and I love them.


	2. Chapter 2

The darkness fell about their shoulders in velvet folds, draping them with the warmth of an easy silence. She breathed deeply of the salty air, head tilted back to catch the breeze riding in with the waves. Moonlight fingered the folding waters and tickled the tops of the dunes softly, fondly.

She kicked off her sandals and toed out into the puddled shadows, wriggling her feet between the sandy goodness. He followed, fingers woven into hers and pale eyes catching the light in a way that gave back rather than demanded more. For a moment they stood, fingers twined, gaze tangling with the ocean. And then he drew her to him, slid his arm around her waist and began to dance, right there on the beach.

They didn't need a rhythm; their beating hearts were enough. And their music was that of the waves cleansing the sands, the plashing of their feet in the shallows, the tang of the salt moving in and out of their lungs.

They danced, lips meeting with a tenderness born of time, and were. For being was enough for them.


	3. Chapter 3

_Starfleet Academy_.

It was the stuff of legends, brimming with the kind of tales you told around a campfire at midnight. Embellishing all the old favorites with twists and extra inches of your own, laughing at the idea of Kirk going back in time for two humpback whales (_whales!_) and shivering as your imaginations conjured the _Enterprise_'s first contact with the Borg.

But never did anyone talk of the entrance exams.

No one from Kessik IV had attended the Academy, and until B'Elanna, no one had ever tried. After all, why leave paradise? And that's what the colony was. For most of its inhabitants.

—Why shouldn't I? she thought, heart thrumming in her chest the way she imagined a warp core would. —I'm top of my class in science and mathematics, and my teachers are always pushing for me to go offworld and take advanced courses during the summer. I'm qualified in every way.

Even so, her palms itched with sweat as she stared at the screen. There it was, a preliminary application to the most talked-of institution in the Federation. And she, B'Elanna Torres, had dared to fill it out.

—What was I thinking? The words trembled through her mind like ripples on a pond, and she remembered everything that made her long to leave. The weight of her father's sagging shoulders and white-knuckled grip on his suitcase as he walked to the idling hovercar; the crashing objects and door-rattling screams as she and her mother fought for the tenth time that week; the giggles and whispers that followed her wherever she went.

She hated this life, hated Kessik IV.

Why shouldn't she leave?

B'Elanna swallowed and sent her application. Who knew? Maybe she'd become one of those legends someday.


	4. Chapter 4

_A-koo-chee-moya. _

He is far from the sacred places of his grandfathers. He is far from the bones of his people.

"You don't have to tell me, Father; I'm not who you expected me to be. I know."

He smiles to himself and thinks of how far he's come. Five years and he is different. Very different. Just as everyone on this ship is different. He has changed. For the better, he hopes. But he still struggles. It still hurts to think that Kolopak will never be able to approve of him in a flesh and blood way, in a face-to-face meeting, a limb-to-limb embrace, an ebony-eyed gaze.

And yet… he knows that Kolopak can see him, that he can smile with the crinkle-eyed pride that escaped him during the years of Chakotay's youth.

"I know you didn't want me at the Academy. But I liked it there. In a way. It prepared me for the Maquis, which brought me here. So somehow, disappointing you led to the greatest journey of my life. And introduced me to some amazing people."

He thinks of B'Elanna and all that she's gone through, with the massacre of her friends and the struggle for life. He thinks of Neelix, and the warmth he feels towards the bumbling Talaxian. He thinks of Kes, and Harry, and Seven and Tuvok and Tom, though the pilot does have a knack for pushing his buttons. He remembers the bad ones, too, like Seska and the Kazon, and the Borg Queen and all the others they've faced over the years. The Vidiians. The crewmen who sacrificed their lives in the line of duty, all in the hope that their friends would one day reach home.

And Kathryn. Kathryn.

Yes. The Academy had been the beginning of this journey, like stepping out the door onto a road traveled by many before him. He had disappointed Kolopak, but he'd stayed true to himself.

"I'd like to think you're proud of me, Father. But I guess that'll have to wait for confirmation."

He smiles softly. A little sadly. _A-koo-chee-moya_.

Yes… He is far from the bones of his ancestors. But he is home, and that is all that matters.


	5. Chapter 5

When she thought about it, her feelings weren't so sudden. They'd probably slipped into her world during the nightmare of the prison camp, when they'd split her in half and thrown her human side in with him. She'd been weak, helpless, terrified of another's boot scuffing in the dirt beside her, and he'd been there for her. Her rock. It was only natural that she turned to him.

But then Chakotay had rescued them, and the Doctor had performed his Delta Quadrant magic on her and she was back to fighting herself once more.

And she'd forgotten all about them. Her feelings. (_The warmth of his arm around her shoulders, his hip pressed against her side._)

But now, watching him convulse on the biobed, tendrils of pain writhing across his face and down inside his body, she was suddenly terrified.

She couldn't lose him. No. Not now. Not ever. Somehow, someway, she'd let herself start loving him, and now…

No. She couldn't.

There was no going back now.


	6. Chapter 6

It would be difficult, but she would adapt. That is what she had told Icheb three days ago, and she promised herself she would make it come true.

She had to promise herself often, though, and it was more difficult to keep than she had thought it would be. But she would adapt. For Seven, for Icheb, for Rebi and Azan whom she looked at every day with sad blue eyes and whispered—"I wish to go home."

But this was home now, so she would adapt. Make the best of it, as Lieutenant Paris would say. She could not decide if thinking of her Voyager family would help her adaptation or hinder it, but thinking of them was most natural. So she thought of them, almost all the time, and that helped her to smile, even with the strange weight on her chest that she supposed the Doctor would call developing her humanity.

Mezoti wasn't sure exactly what her humanity was, but she knew she would adapt. It would be hard, but she would adapt. She had promised.


	7. Chapter 7

He loved to cook. Why couldn't the Real Tuvok love to cook? What was wrong with it? Why was it forbidden? Why did they look at him that way whenever he smiled or tossed a spoon aside in frustration? The icing wouldn't smooth correctly on the cake—of course he'd be upset. It was a cake for Captain Janeway. To tell her how much he appreciated her, as a friend. It was special. It had to be perfect.

He would make one for Neelix later, even if Neelix annoyed him sometimes. But friends weren't always perfect, so Neelix deserved a cake, too. Because Neelix was his friend.

They were whispering again, looking at him out of the corners of their eyes. Why wouldn't they just talk to him? Didn't they like him anymore? Had he changed that much? But why was that bad? Why didn't they like him the way he was now? He was still Tuvok. Wasn't he?

Why was cooking bad?


	8. Chapter 8

She fiddles with her spoon and drags her eyes across the line of text for the fifth time. The mysterious ingredients of Neelix's latest casserole twist and contort up her nostrils, but she's long past caring about anything.

This is the fourth night in a row that he's forgotten.

She pushes the thought from her mind and returns to her meal, tipping bits of alien meat and vegetables onto tasteless buds, just trying to look normal and fend off concern. If Neelix—if anyone—walks up to her, she knows she won't keep it together. And the last thing she wants to do is cry.

Her act fails, and she hears footsteps. She can tell they are Harry's without looking up from Seven's daily efficiency report; this is the first time she's wanted to read it through uninterrupted. But Harry knows that, and he sits down.

"He's not coming, is he," he says. Not a question. Not a statement. Frustration. Disappointment. No. No. —Shut down.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He sighs, but she continues to read. _…the .03 flow constriction in the plasma manifolds is due to the…_

"All right, Maquis. Have it your way. But you're not eating alone tonight."

—That's right, I'm not. I'm done eating.

But she sits still anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

"Miral—"

"Do not dishonor yourself further by lying."

She refused to look at him, and he dropped the subject. For a while, they were silent. Shoulders strung higher than sonic sound waves, they held opposite sides of the room and refused to compromise even on the air they breathed. He sat at the table, fingers tapping, shoulders slumped; she stood by the window, hands folded in front of her and back erect with pride. Or anger.

He didn't know her anymore.

Had he ever?

"We can still make this work, Mir," he tried again, keeping his voice soft. No sense in dragging B'Elanna into this. Until they had to.

"No. We cannot. You are foolish to think so. And I was foolish to marry you."

That hurt. He looked at her, this woman he'd married, lived with for seven years. A Klingon. How had he ever been so naïve to think they could make it work?

"Daddy?"

"B'Elanna." He turned to face her guiltily.

"You shouldn't be up this late. Go to bed," Miral's voice boomed. She was still facing the window.

"But Mommy, I wanted—"

"You have school in the morning; go to bed. Now."

"Miral—" John watched his daughter run from the room. "Was that really necessary? She just wanted to see us."

"She'll know soon enough; no sense in upsetting her before the science fair. It's the only thing she's good at."

_The only thing she's good at…_The words were anvils on his conscience, but he knew that anything he said would only make it worse.

That's why he had to leave. Tomorrow.


	10. Chapter 10

She stood at the bay window, teacup in hand and eyes glistening, waiting for the fireworks to bloom across the sky. It would be any minute now, she knew, because ten years of waiting did that to you. Ten years, and all of them alone. She missed him. So much it ached.

Of course, she knew he'd moved on. His broken black eyes and bowed shoulders had told her that long before they'd returned. She'd upheld protocol and he'd listened to his heart. It was as simple as that. Still, it hurt, not having him by her side.

She knew where to find him. Everyone did. Everyone who cared, that is. Which wasn't many. She, Sveta, B'Elanna, Tom, Harry when he could get away.

Maybe she and B'Elanna could go tomorrow. Leave some flowers, say a few words. Loose their latest batch of tears. B'Elanna would probably punch something, throw a few things. But that was normal. It helped her vent.

Kathryn didn't know how to vent.

Her eyes stung fiercely as she turned her attention back to the celebration on the Bay. He was gone, and she was here. And she had to keep going, just a little while longer. For him.


	11. Chapter 11

Everything is packed and settled around them, jumbled pieces of the puzzle in his heart. She's standing stiffly in her uniform, combadge glinting in the sunlight, reddish hair no longer free and falling about her shoulders. Back to business.

After two months, he's not sure if he can go back to business.

He's in his uniform as well, a bag slung over his shoulder and combadge pricking uncomfortably under the strap. In a flash of anger, he wishes they'd destroyed them, or at least dissembled them for other uses. She could have used the power cell for her microscope (eventually…), and he's sure he could have come up with some use for the other parts.

But it's too late now, and _Voyager_ is orbiting above them, ready for the beam-out.

Whenever Kathryn is.

He looks at her, and she avoids his gaze, staring instead at the soft grass, the whispery trees, the monkey come to say goodbye. And the bathtub off in the distance. She hadn't asked him to dissect that. It wouldn't be of much use on a starship.

But he knows that's not the real reason she's leaving it.

Back to business.

He looks at her one last time, as her friend (as something more), and then lifts his feelings from his heart and locks them away in his mind. Someday, maybe. But for now…

"Janeway to _Voyager_. Two to beam up."


	12. Chapter 12

"Seriously, Dad, I'm fine. You can stop mother henning me."

Tom opened his mouth, then shut it. Looked at her. Eyebrow quirked, arms folded, and lips fighting to hold back a smile. When had she gotten so big?

"I still can't believe you cut your hair." He had no idea why he chose that of all things to say. Miral was about to enter the Academy, and what was he doing? Lamenting the loss of her waist-length locks.

"Thanks, Dad."

He closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mir. It's just…"

"I know." And she was serious now, blue eyes soft on his.

"I'm going to miss you. So is your mother."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like I'm leaving forever, Dad. And there are these amazing things called transporters—"

"Oh, stop it!" he laughed, tickling her ribs. She squealed and danced away.

"I promise I'll come visit."

"Every weekend?"

"I'll think about it," she teased, and stretched up to kiss his cheek. "I love you, Dad. I promise I'll do you and Mom proud."

"You already have," he whispered, holding back his sudden tears. Wasn't it just yesterday he was holding her for the first time? "Be careful, you hear?"

"Aye aye, sir." She snapped off a salute.

"Bye, _kuvah'magh_." She smiled at the nickname, eyes glimmering with tears.

"Bye, Dad. I love you."

As he watched her disappear in a hail of transporter sparkles, he felt a hand slide up his arm, a cheek settle against his shoulder. He relaxed into her touch.

"She'll be fine, flyboy."

"I know," he sighed. "I'm just going to miss her. A lot."

"So am I," she whispered, and he could hear the tears thickening her voice. "So am I."


	13. Chapter 13

Transporters, uniforms, replicators—_baths_! Neelix couldn't believe his good fortune. These Star-something people were a salvager's dream. And _he'd_ found them first! The Talaxian yanked his whisker just to make sure it was real.

He was on his seventh glass of water when he remembered Kes.

Kes, and the bruises on her cheeks. Kes, and the cuts across her eye. Kes, and the daintiness in her step, even when they made her drag crates of plunder across the compound.

Neelix held the glass of water before him, tilting it until the precious liquid dribble onto his outstretched fingers. Kes needed this. Kes would die without this.

He had to save her. Somehow, he had to save her. Save her and bring her to live with him on _Voyager_.


	14. Chapter 14

He looks up to see her watching him. Her brown eyes are hesitant, as if she doesn't trust his reaction. His heart aches at the sight, and he wonders what he's said or done to wound her.

"Hi," she says, and it is a soft, broken sound.

"Hi."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm trying to contact my spirit guide."

"Why?" She is groping in the dark now, and the realization comforts him, because he knows he's not alone in this.

"Who knows what's going to happen when that ring hits us? We might be in for another long journey."

She tries to smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I guess I could use a little spiritual guidance myself right now. Mind if I join you?"

_Ah, little sister. _"I thought you'd never ask."

She sits and pauses, looking at him and then at the table. After a moment, she closes her eyes and reaches for his hand.

The touch is all he needs to know they'll be okay.


	15. Chapter 15

Things were changing. She could feel it. She'd always had that knack, even when she was just a month old, and she could never settle on how she viewed it. Was it a gift, or a curse? She didn't know.

But things were changing, and so was she. She didn't know what the change meant—she rarely did—but still. Things were changing. And she had to let him know about it. He bumbled over to her, a smile stretching his furry face, and she ached so fiercely she almost backed down. What would it hurt, to let him go on believing? To give him just a few more days, months, maybe a year? Did she have to tell him now?

Yes. Yes, she did.

"How's my sweeting today?" And his voice was so bright, so familiar, that she had stop it, and stop it now. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to do this.

"Neelix…"

She loved him, but things were changing, and that's why she had to let him go. _Forgive me…someday._


	16. Chapter 16

Tom brings the _Flyer_ into the shuttle bay with the grace of an eagle landing, and they sit back in a collective sigh of relief.

—We almost died, she thinks, and rakes a hand through her hair. Died. Almost. Dead. No more. She shudders. —How could I have been so stupid? Why did I shut them out like that?

She looks at Harry, pale with a touch of green in his skin, leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed and nostrils flaring. Then over at Tom, who's swiveled his chair to face her, hands splayed on his knees and eyes intent upon her. She lets herself avoid his gaze for a moment, but then forces her eyes upward, into his blue ones.

—I'm sorry, she thinks, but all she can do is open her mouth and close it again. —I'm so, so sorry.

/The screams, the phaser blasts, the blackened faces and scorched flesh, the searing life of pain, and her arms, thrown wide to embrace it, because it tells her she's alive. Alive./

—I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Tom. Forgive me. Please.

He studies her a while, then, slowly…

he nods.


	17. Chapter 17

—Glorified Klingons, he thought as they clunked their way into the room, jostling him along with their disruptors. He thought about mouthing off about cattle prods and unnecessary roughness, but bit his tongue instead. Tom Paris might be cocky, but he wasn't a fool.

They shoved at him again, and he managed to keep from falling flat on his face, but only barely. As he righted himself, he darted his eyes around the room, taking in the shadows, the greens and blues of the terminal controls, the overall rusted, unwashed feel of the place.

And the absence of windows.

No stars. Not even one. He swallowed and pressed his panic down into a tight little ball. —You volunteered for this, remember? You volunteered, because _Voyager_ needs you. And _Voyager_'s needs are important to you now. You're not some shiftless vagabond anymore. You have friends who care about you—

If they hadn't given up on him by now.

Harry. Neelix. B'Elanna. The Delaneys. Mulcahey. Ayala. They were probably all disgusted with him by now. Disgusted that they'd ever trusted him. Wondering how they could've been duped by such a low-life. Ex-convict. They should have known.

—Shut up Paris. Shut up and do your job. Tomorrow can worry about itself.


	18. Chapter 18

_Chief Medical Officer's Log, Stardate 52773.4 – Nothing of importance has met with my talents today. A few sprained ankles and a dislocated shoulder were the only notable injuries, all of which I fixed with my typical efficiency and care. _

_Ensign Paris assisted me for the first half of the day, until his duties on the Bridge took precedence over the health of his crewmates. (I really must speak to Captain Janeway about pulling him away so abruptly. She's very bad about that. I was in the middle of my lecture on the anatomical structure of the Bolian equivalent to a third liver when she tore him away. It's a shame, really, because I could tell he was actually listening with half an ear. But I digress.)_

_As I was saying, Ensign Paris assisted me, showing his competence is not entirely reserved for disparaging remarks about my operatic pursuits. A relief, I'm—_

"Computer. Save recording and switch to Chief Medical Officer's personal log, supplemental."

_::Personal log available. Supplemental fourteen.::_

_There's really no point in my denying it anymore. I know I'll never be able to tell it to her in the flesh (or photons, in my case), but I must set it down for posterity, in the event that I never make it back to Earth and the Alpha Quadrant. My brothers in the mines, at least, will want to know that one of their kind is capable of pushing through the muck of humanity and rising above to a better program. And to think… to think that this—_

_Seven, I love you. I really do. I always have, right from when I saw you on that biobed, jammed with Borg implants and so in need of my help. It was love at first sight, like they always say. And I know I'm just a hologram, but you can learn to love me the way I do you. I know you can. Oh, Seven, won't you give me a chance? Please? I'll do anything! Anything at—_

The Doctor sat up with a bolt. It seemed that the nightmare subroutine was not a good idea. At all.


	19. Chapter 19

He's warm beside her, snoring lightly, arm thrown over her waist and fingers brushing her stomach. She can just see the glint of his wedding ring from the corner of her eye, feel his breath tickling her neck. The pillow is soft, the bed familiar. The fluttering in her middle still makes her pulse rocket into disbelief.

'_B'Elanna, I am not your father and you are not your mother, and our daughter is going to be perfect just the way she is.'_

"Tom?" She stirs, running her fingers over his hand, up his arm. Half-turns, so she can see him. "Tom, are you awake?"

"Hmm…" he mumbles. "What is it, Bee?"

"Tom… do you really think so?"

"…Think what?"

"That she'll be perfect."

"Who?"

"The baby. Our daughter."

He opens his eyes. Looks at her. Traces her gaze with his. "I know so."

"Tom…"

"Yes?"

"Tell me again. Please."

And so he does. With a whisper, a touch, the brush of his lips across her cheek. And an arm curled around her middle as she falls asleep, secure in his love.


	20. Chapter 20

They'd left _Voyager_ after three weeks of debriefing, each with a bag slung over their shoulder and a combadge glinting in the coppery summer air. It was strange, walking away from this ship with so little to show for it. One satchel, some favorite civvies, a knickknack or two. His uniform. And a hole where he supposed his heart had once been.

Cliché, he admitted, but at least it was accurate. Or as close to accurate as something like a giant gap in one's chest could get. For seven years, they'd striven to reach this place they all called home—all but the few like Seven, Icheb, and Naomi Wildman—and what did they have to show for it?

A satchel, a uniform, and an ache for the familiar.

Seven years, and Earth wasn't familiar anymore. More than seven years, actually. But even the Alpha Quadrant didn't feel right. And as he walked along the pristine sidewalks of Starfleet Academy, he wondered if it would ever feel right again.

Somehow, he knew it wouldn't. At least not when this silence lumbered between them like the proverbial elephant in the room.

He'd known that she would never fully leave his mind, not completely, not even when they'd disembarked the ship and set off on their different paths. But he hadn't expected to run into her this soon, either.

And so the silence stretched on, both of them pretending that nothing (and everything) had changed.


	21. Chapter 21

There are days when he wonders if _Voyager_'s halls change shape according to his mood. Right now, he wants them to be long. Never-ending. Labyrinthine and full of laughter and holodeck plans and exclamations over baby Miral. But right now…

"You look like you just lost your best friend, Harry," B'Elanna jokes, brown eyes smirking as she bounces Miral.

"Yeah, lighten up, will you?" Tom elbows his ribs. "You're going to see your folks. After seven years of moaning after your mom's pineapple upside down cake, you'd think you'd act a little more excited."

"I am excited. It's just… I don't want to leave."

"Yeah. Yeah, me too." And Tom's voice is softer now. Eyes searching memories of yesterday.

"We'll miss you, Harry," Janeway rasps. And he knows without looking that she's about to cry. Captain or no, she's been a mother to him these past seven years. He'll miss her. How will he serve under another captain? It will be strange.

And then he's turning to B'Elanna, because she's the first person he met from the Maquis crew, the first person he worked with to solve a big problem, the first person to give him a nickname that made him smile…

He looks at her and sees a friendship that comforts him in its strength—a bond that promises never to die or drift into forgetfulness. "Look, B'Elanna… about that time on—"

"Shut up, Starfleet." And she kisses his cheek.

Tom is next, last, because he's said his goodbyes to everyone else (Seven's was a little like pulling a tooth with no anesthetic) and—

There are no words.

And that's okay.


	22. Chapter 22

"Mom, guess what!"

Samantha Wildman brushed past, fastening her pip onto her collar. "I don't have time right now, honey. My shift's about to start. I'll see you in the morning, okay? And remember, Neelix is tucking you in tonight."

The room fell silent. Naomi slumped to the couch and stared at her boots. A tear splashed hotly onto her hand and she jumped up and ran out the door, wiping her face as she went. No. —If Mom won't listen, then I won't listen, she thought grimly, and clumped her way through the halls. Maybe Seven would read her report.

Seven was busy.

The numbers on the turbolift were hot and blurry, and Naomi ran through the widening gap without looking. She slammed into a body, and Lieutenant Torres' breath left her in an _oomph_. Naomi gasped and stuttered backwards, every story she'd heard of the Chief's wrath flashing through her mind. —I'm dead, she wailed inwardly. —I'm dead and I'll never be able to help Flotter find his dad. She squeezed her eyes shut and hoped for a quick exit.

"Naomi. What are you doing down here?"

Naomi opened one eye and then another, slowly drawing her neck up from her shoulders. "I, uh… I wanted to see Seven, you see, because I wanted someone to read my report. Captain Janeway signed it, and she said I did a wonderful job, especially the section about—"

"About what?" B'Elanna asked, hand on her hip. But not in an angry way. In a… curious way.

"Uh… about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I wrote about how you're always saving the ship." Naomi beamed. "Captain Janeway even gave me permission to interview crewmembers for my next report."

"Really?" B'Elanna had a funny, faraway look in her eyes. Naomi's heart beat a little faster. Was she mad about the report?

"I said only nice things. I promise. You wanna read it?"

B'Elanna blinked. "Um… sure. Yes. Send a copy to my quarters, will you?" And with that she left the turbolift, lifting her padd as she went.

Naomi just caught a glimpse of it as it flashed by. The display read "Names: Middle: #32 – Naomi?"

Naomi Wildman, Captain's Assistant, beamed.


	23. Chapter 23

B'Elanna she could handle. B'Elanna she could understand. She was a former terrorist, a Starfleet drop-out, half-Klingon, and, quite frankly, a hothead. From her, she expected it. She was disappointed, but she could accept it and move on.

But Tuvok?

She sat, heavily, and ran a hand over her eyes. Then her other hand, because one wasn't enough to wipe away the confusion. Her head was pounding behind her eyes like drums, drums, drums…

Tuvok. Her dearest friend. Tuvok. Her right arm. Tuvok. Her confidant, in all his Vulcan stoicism. The one who kept her sane in this upside down, Federation-less quadrant. The one she could always count on to set her straight, even when she didn't want it.

Tuvok.

And he'd betrayed her. Gone behind her back.

Oh, Tuvok.

What was she going to do?


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** I realize I'm in a rut here, with P/T, B'Elanna, and J/C, but that's only because I haven't had time to build up my drabble stores recently. Today is catch-up day, so be on the lookout for some different characters. In the meantime, this's for you, **CP7**. :)

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><p>He had to tell her sometime. It wasn't right, letting her go on this way.<p>

What was he thinking? Go on this way? What way? There was no way. It was strictly a working relationship, theirs.

But then… there were those times, in the mess hall late at night, or in her quarters for dinner over the dismantled replicator and a bottle of Antarian cider. Or charging down the halls of _Voyagers_ past with her hair in a bun and curiosity sparking her eye. The quirk to her eyebrow that always coaxed his dimples out of hiding. The flower he'd given her… once…

And… no.

There was no way. Only one way. And all on his part. So he had to tell her. Soon.

The thought weighed his shoulders. How… Where to start?

_Kathryn, I have something to tell you. It's about Seven…_

As it turned out, she told herself exactly two weeks later.


	25. Chapter 25

Seven rustled into a sitting position, reaching for the lamp beside her bed. Her father's sister—her aunt—was… curious. Old-fashioned, Lieutenant Paris called her. Eccentric, the Doctor had said, eyebrow twitching and lips crimped together as he studied her readouts. No computers, no replicators. No transporter—Seven had to walk a mile to the nearest public one. (But she didn't mind, because it gave her time to think. And daily exercise was important to her health.)

The switch snapped into place, flooding the bed and floor in a pool of warm, quiet light. Seven liked the light. It told her where she was. Helped her feel secure in this insecurity. She could open her eyes and see immediately that this wasn't her alcove (that was back at Headquarters, and she only went there every few days, when her implants demanded that she regenerate).

The mattress underneath her was cold, hard. Lumpy in unfamiliar places and made her wiggle like Naomi Wildman the thirty-first minute of her half-hour Astrometrics class on Tuesday afternoons.

Except, Naomi Wildman didn't come to Astrometrics for a half-hour classes on Tuesday afternoons anymore, because she no longer lived on _Voyager_. None of them did. Because _Voyager_ had made it home, to the Alpha Quadrant, and everyone was settling into their new lives.

Changing. Adapting. Going back to normal.

Except…

Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One, hugged her knees and sat with the light on. Adapting was a way of life for her. For all of them, really. But that didn't mean she liked it.


	26. Chapter 26

Seven years is a long time to be apart, even for a Vulcan. Perhaps that is why his chest feels so strangely tight, and his fingers tingling, and he cannot stop looking at her. At T'Pel. His wife.

He watches her—no, looks at her—and tries to rationalize his feelings. Because that's what they are, he knows. Feelings.

The forbidden.

But also the embraced. Because this is his wife, and he hasn't seen her in seven years, and it's okay, just this once. Because he loves her.

"It is… pleasing to see you," he stilts, and knows that it is really so much more.


	27. Chapter 27

Dashing. Charming. Cocky. Fickle. All words he'd lived with for half his life. Pretty much from freshman year of high school on. If he were really honest, he'd started in seventh grade. With Rita Yeager. And that famous wink. Actually, all that time spent showing off on the playground in elementary school probably…

And for half his life, he'd welcomed it. At least it made him feel important. Noticed. Good enough.

But now… She really did make his knees buckle. It killed him to think she'd never give him a second glance.

And all because they thought he couldn't change.


	28. Chapter 28

Moments like these made her glad she was pregnant. At least then she was never alone.

The padd was cold in her fingers, even though she'd held it for the past five minutes. Motionless. Just staring.

/If you can't stand living with us, then why don't you just leave?/

How do you summarize twenty years of hurt in one letter?

I'll write you. What kind of fool had she been to say that? Write him? She didn't even know where to begin.

—Let's see, Dad. After you left, I cried myself to sleep for months, did everything I could to look human, failed every school course that wasn't math or engineering, and argued with Mom over everything, even if she said the rain was wet. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I left for Starfleet and dropped out after two years because they didn't like me the way I was. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? And then—then I finally found a home in the Maquis, only to end up on a Starfleet ship 70,000 light years from home, where it's taken me seven years to build up enough self-esteem to let myself love again.

"Looks like you're off to a good start. Though, I wouldn't put the bit about failing school. He might ground you."

She jumped as Tom leaned over her shoulder. "What?"

"Your letter. Just giving you a few pointers. I had to write one of these a couple years ago."

"How did you—" and then she realized. She'd been writing the whole time.

"Seriously. Are you going to send that to him?"

"No. But I don't know what else to write," she sighed miserably.

He considered her a moment, then moved to the replicator. "Two cheese pizzas, Paris 012 Special. Try telling him about the baby."

"I already did. We told him about the name, remember?"

"Well, I'm sure you have a lot more to tell him than that. Right?" He sat and slid a pizza across to her.

"You know I don't like these."

"Just try it."

"But—"

"It's easier after the first bite."

She looked at him. Long. Hard. "Okay. I'll give it a try."


	29. Chapter 29

"B'Elanna. Stop it."

She blinks and raises her chin from her hand. "Huh?"

"You're staring at me again. It's creeping me out."

"Oh. Sorry." She mumbles something more, but it's lost in the hubbub of the mess hall at dinner time.

"Is something wrong?"

"What?"

"I said, is something wrong? You're awfully quiet tonight."

She stares at him—again—and it makes him shiver. It's like… like she's looking at a ghost. What is wrong with her?

"I watched you die, Harry."

Her words are so quiet that he sees them more than hears them. "B'Elanna…"

"No. No, don't try to make it better. I watched you die. I _let_ you die."

"You didn't _let_ me die! Now stop it." Even so, her words send a shiver down his spine.

"But I did, Harry. I let you go. I didn't hold on."

"That wasn't me."

"But…" She ducks her head quickly and saws at a bite of food.

"B'Elanna…" he reaches across the table to touch her hand. She stills, and when she looks up, he can see the tears in her eyes. "I'm fine. I'm alive, and I'm fine. So don't beat yourself up about it, okay?"

"Okay," she whispers, and stands to leave. "I've got to go."

She walks away, and he sinks back in his chair with a sigh. It's true… he doesn't feel quite right in this timeline. But he's grateful to be alive. And some part of him, no matter how small, is glad that someone has taken it upon herself to mourn his passing, however brief it had been.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:** This's it, folks... about as sappy as my J/C can get. ;)

* * *

><p>One day… one day he'd stop swallowing before he talked to her, or almost choking when he heard her voice behind him, or course-correcting his thoughts whenever she reported to the Bridge. One day, he'd be able to stare at her and not have to hide it. One day, he would kiss her, and then kiss her again, and again, because he was sure he'd never get enough of her. One day, his palms would stop sweating and his heart stop bucking and his head stop spinning like a rookie in the clutches of vertigo. One day, his stomach would listen to him and he'd be able to eat when she sat with him in the mess hall.<p>

One day. One day.

But for now… He'd keep waiting.

Because Kathryn Janeway was a woman worth waiting for.


	31. Chapter 31

He stands in the settling ashes, a breeze teasing his scalp. Ashes and a breeze… they seem so wrong, so ill-placed. He clenches his fist and looks to the sky.

Or what's left of the sky.

It's all gray. Gray and falling, flaking like snow from the clouds in winter. Except this isn't snow, and those aren't clouds, and this isn't winter.

At least, not in the traditional sense.

This is death. So… the winter of life.

But winter always turns to spring. Death does not. So this is not winter.

He inhales too sharply, the ash biting his tongue, his throat, his lungs. His body rejecting whatever remnant of his home—or family—that remains on this lazy, friendly air. It is wrong, this air. It is wrong, this ash.

It is wrong, this life. This death.

His nails bite his palms. His heart bucks painfully. His chest heaves, throat convulses. He is dry. Dry and stretched. Cracked like old leather. Broken like the shards of clay before him. Or is he just imagining those? How could dishes survive such mayhem, even in potsherds?

He kneels on the ashy, smoldering earth. Stretches blackened fingers to the fragments. Feels them, sharp in his palm. Turns them, this way and that. Touching. Feeling. Living.

Believing.

Then, he rises. Looks to the not-winter sky. And leaves.

He will make them pay. Even if it's the last thing he does, he'll make them pay for what they've done to him.


	32. Chapter 32

Every morning brought a new ache in her bones.

_The Doctor trying to corral her in sickbay for her physicals. B'Elanna's face when she'd reprimanded her after the incident on Sikaris. Tom's cold blue eyes as she snapped off that pip. Chakotay's broken black ones when Tuvok hailed them on New Earth. Kes's grace and calm as she flitted from one patient to the next. Tuvok's smooth forehead when he was not-Tuvok, making her cakes and morsels and smiling at her. Neelix's trembling lips as he said goodbye. Harry's impassioned speech when she confronted him about Tal. Seven's broken cry in the brig that first day changing back… _

Every afternoon held a new face at the Academy.

_Jaffen, the man she had loved in another life. Caylem's antics with the melon shell on his head. Gath's charming arrogance she'd wanted to ignore. Miral's tiny body fitting warmly in her arms. Naomi's wide-eyed little face peeking around Samantha's waist. Icheb's flattened lips when Seven refused his cortical node. Mezoti's confusion about this thing called having fun. Rebi and Azan, smiling but quiet._

Every evening came the coffee, lacing her nostrils and coaxing her body to relax, let go, be.

And remember. Because the memories never changed. As long as she remembered, they stayed the same.


	33. Chapter 33

"He likes you."

"Yeah? Well he's certainly not the first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Starfleet, that I've had one too many boys drooling at my feet over the years, and I'm not about to give this one a second glance, even if he is your best friend."

"What if I said he's in love with you?"

"Then I'd say you're crazy."

"Well, he is."

"You can't be serious."

"But I am, B'Elanna."

"That's ridiculous."

He looked at her. "It's not. Stop selling yourself short."

"You're making something out of nothing, Harry. Now hand me that hyperspanner."

"You're changing the subject."

"And you're brilliant."

"B'Elanna."

"Look. Starfleet. I appreciate the gesture. Even though I think you're out of your mind, you're sweet. But I don't need sweet."

"I'm telling you, B'Elanna, it's true."

"No. It's not. Now shut up and help me with these calibrations or I'll send you down to scrub the plasma manifolds."


	34. Chapter 34

There were times when he felt useless and empty, just so much memory taking up computer space. When he'd transfer back to Sickbay with a grin on his face because he'd perfected the aria he'd worked on for several weeks, or his latest holo-lecture had come together spectacularly, or even that he'd made par on the golf course. The _expert_ golf course.

And he'd shimmer into view, greeting… an empty room. Oh, sure, they came to him with cuts and bruises and broken bones. The occasional plasma burn or cardiac arrest, nothing his programming couldn't handle. And then there were the away missions and the inherent need to blow up a shuttle and kill half the occupants, demanding in turn that he revive them (as if bringing someone back from the dead were an everyday occurrence).

They came to him when they needed him, and that was it. After Kes's departure, he'd faded into the memory banks once more. Now… what?

The Doctor sighed, placing a weary head in holographic hands. These days were the longest, because invisibility was interminable. Sometimes… he just wanted to give up. Delete his program and be done with it.

At least then they'd appreciate him.


	35. Chapter 35

"Promise me something."

His throat is so raw he can barely scrape out the words. But he knows he has to. He can't let them take this away. Not now. Not after everything.

"What?"

"If things get worse…"

/the pain. he can't make it. he'll go crazy. they're scratching at his mind. scrabbling. like mice. mice inside his head. a mouse. digging, gnawing, chewing into him. they're inside his mind. his mind their mind our mind./

/a scream/

"If things get worse, if it comes down to making a choice—" the pain is excruciating "—don't worry about me. Take care of yourself. Do we… do we have a deal?"

Harry stiffens beside him, fingers strangling his wrist, breath halting. —Oh, no, Harry, don't do this to me. Not now. Don't try to be the hero.

"Quiet," his best friend rasps, and that's the end of it.


	36. Chapter 36

Janeway settled into her chair, fragrant swirls misting up from her coffee cup to moisten her lips. She allowed the caress to loosen them from their grim line, felt the knot in her brow unravel. She could stand for one of the Doctor's massages right about now… though goodness knows she'd never set foot in Sickbay to ask him. He'd been badgering her about her latest physical for the past three weeks…

—What am I doing?

The mug in her hands suddenly burned too hot, and she clanked it onto her desk. She'd just thrown one of her senior officers in the brig—demoted him to ensign, no less—and she was sitting here thinking of massages and physicals?

—You're a fool, Kathryn. A fool.

But she'd done what needed doing. And she didn't regret it.

Yet.


	37. Chapter 37

"Seven?"

"Yes?"

"Do you ever… remember? About being a kid. You know, before the Borg took you."

Seven's hands stilled on her console. Beside her, Naomi Wildman remained silent, head tilted so that the light from Astrometrics caught her freckles, eyebrows puckering around her spikes.

"I… was very young."

"Neelix said you were six."

"That is still young."

"But I'm only three, and look how much I remember!"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Well… because. You're my friend, aren't you?"

Seven looked at her. "I suppose so. Yes."

"And friends tell each other stuff, right?"

"If Lieutenant Paris and Ensign Kim are any indication, friends tell each other far too much."

"You know pretty much everything about me. So now it's your turn. I want to know about you."

"…All right. What would you like to know?"

"Did you ever dance? Outside, I mean? In the sunshine, with butterflies floating around you and the wind playing in your hair?"

"Dance… outside?"

"Yeah. You know. Not on a starship. Nature."

"I…"

/Daddy, look! A butterfly! A pink one! Oooh, help me catch it, please!

Annika, be careful. Don't get too close to the water.

But look, Mommy, I'm a ballerina. And ballerinas dance by lakes. Right, Daddy?/

"Seven?"

"What?"

"Did you hear me? About the dancing?"

Seven blinked and shifted her weight, turning back to the console. "No. No I did not dance."

"Oh."

/Annika. My little ballerina./


	38. Chapter 38

The water lapped warmly at her toes, calling for her to play. She sat hunched on the sand, wind whipping her hair, and rubbed at the scarf around her forehead. Seven years, and she still couldn't bring herself to leave the house without it.

_What is the matter with you, B'Elanna? Why do you hide your heritage?_

I miss him, she would think, slamming through the house to her room. I miss him and I want him back, and maybe one of these days he'll see a picture of me and I'll have the scarf on, and I'll look normal. And maybe… maybe then he'll love me enough to come back.

The water slapped around her ankles, sloshing up in a sloppy welcome. But she stayed on the beach, curled into herself, and stared.


	39. Chapter 39

He can feel it crackling in the air—the tapped toes, worried lips, folded arms. The ducked heads and shifting vision, anything to keep from looking each other in the eye and finding out that what they _thought_ was true really wasn't.

And the sight of her is driving him crazy.

_I realize you were suffering from oxygen deprivation and we were literally seconds away from death, so I know you probably didn't…_

He's horrified to hear himself saying it out loud. All this time. In the middle of the wide-open corridor, where any average Joe can come breezing by and hear him babbling and blushing like some middle school dweeb. He was such an idiot. A—

"Oh, no, I meant it."

What?

"—but I don't expect you to reciprocate. Really, you can just pretend that I didn't say it. In fact, let's just pretend that I didn't—"

"Shut up."

And he's kissing her, before he even realizes it, kissing her in the middle of the hallway where any average Joe could come breezing by, and for once in his life,

Tom Paris doesn't care.


	40. Chapter 40

She looks around her with the gaze of memory, letting her eyes linger on the stitching between red and black, mustard and ebony, turquoise and obsidian. These are her officers, the ones she knows she can trust—at least for a time. Until the adventure fades away and the desire for family and familiar constellations wins and she has to fight for their loyalties. But for now, she can trust them.

_I will remember you_, she vows, naming each of them silently. Thomas Eugene Paris. Ensign Harry Kim. Ensign Samantha Wildman. Lieutenant Tuvok.

She blinks across the skirmish of browns that is his clothing, noting the straining muscles in his folded arms, the scowl marring his chiseled face, wrinkling the navy whorls of his tattoo. For a moment she wonders if she's made the right choice, but then she sees his eyes, and she knows. She can trust him.

_Chakotay. You are the kind of man who will tell me when I'm wrong, even though you know I won't listen_, she thinks at him. He flicks his eyes to hers and she wonders if he heard her. But no.

A jaunting shoulder and thrust out hip greet the steel blue path of her eyes next, and suddenly she's staring into brown orbs of defiance, of hatred and curled lips and snarled insults in Klingon. But she can see past it, past the hip and shoulder, through to the arms clutched against her chest, the shuttered quality to her face.

_B'Elanna. They have hurt you. I will make you whole again. I will give you a home. Here. With us. _She knows it will take time.

And now her eyes have traveled their route, reached their destination, come back to park at this screen, this black expanse speckled with the unknown and splashed across with the colors of danger and discovery.

Yes. They have a long way to go. But she knows…

As long as she remembers this moment, with her crew—_her crew_—they will make it.

Home.


	41. Chapter 41

"I didn't notice a little box on my chair," he says before he thinks better of it. A crooked smile covers it up, but he can't lie to himself.

He's proud of Tom, happy that his best friend has earned his pip back (even if it does mean The Return of the Ensign Jokes with a Vengeance), but he can't help tasting the bitter film on his tongue and feeling the twist in his gut.

Six years, and still an ensign. It took Tom little more than a year to shake that title. And still, here his is, Ensign Eager Harry Kim, busting his tail. And all—for what? Satisfaction at the end of the day?

He supposes Tom or B'Elanna would be happy with that, but he needs something more. He needs to _feel_ his rank when he puts on his uniform every morning.

_I didn't notice a little box on my chair…_

Will he ever?


	42. Chapter 42

Seven of Nine. _Seven of Nine_.

Tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix 01. I am Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct of Unimatrix 01.

_She is Seven of Nine. _

We are Borg.

_She is Borg_.

She will prevail.

My designation is Seven of Nine. I am Borg. We are Borg. Prepare to be assimilated.

"Resistance is futile."

_Who said that?_

Janeway.

"I am Borg. My name is Seven of Nine."

"Your name is Annika Hansen."

"No. No." Something is wrong. She's feeling. She's breaking. Why can't she hear the collective's voice? Why is she alone? We are Borg. _No. No. _You_ are Borg. You, alone. You, Seven. Seven of Nine, tertiary adjunct…_

"You are Annika Hansen. You are human. _Voyager_ is your home now. You are Annika Hansen."

_Seven of Nine. She is Borg. Seven of Nine._

_Seven._

_Seven._

Seven.


	43. Chapter 43

"Mom?"

B'Elanna looked up to see Miral leaning on the doorframe and fiddling with her brush. "What is it?"

"I was wondering…" her daughter gestured a little sheepishly and took a faltering step inside. "Would you brush my hair? One last time?"

B'Elanna breathed out a laugh to cover the catch in her throat. "Of course. C'mere."

Miral grinned and folded herself Indian style on the carpet, dragging her long locks over her shoulders to hang down her back. B'Elanna took the brush and began working it through the snarls at the bottom, quickly at first and then slowly from the top in long, even strokes.

She wanted to remember this moment forever.

"So you're really doing it."

Miral shifted a bit. "I am." A pause. "It'll be different."

"I'm sure. Going from waist to shoulder-length is going to be…"

"A relief," Miral giggled. "Plus. The regs require it."

B'Elanna's hands stilled.

"Mom?"

She blinked. "Hmm?"

"Are you okay? About me doing this? I mean…"

"Miral… I am so proud of you. And I couldn't be happier that you've chosen to do what you're doing."

"You're sure? Because, I mean I know how it was for you, and I just want to make sure—"

B'Elanna brushed a finger over her daughter's lips. "Just because I had a hard time at the Academy doesn't mean you will. And even if you do, I have faith you'll pull through whatever you put your mind to. It might take you a few years, but you can do it. I know you can."

"I love you, Mom," Miral said, slipping her arms around B'Elanna's neck. "Thank you for believing in me."

B'Elanna returned the embrace, and the tears tracking down her cheeks weren't ones of sorrow.

They hadn't been for a long, long time.


	44. Chapter 44

"I'm leaving, Father. Tomorrow."

"Chakotay. Do not be foolish. Think about this. Think before you go."

"I can't stay where I don't belong."

"_This_ is where you belong! Here, with your family."

"Nothing you can say will change my mind. I'm going to the Academy. Captain Sulu is sponsoring me. It is a great honor."

"What can the Academy offer you that we cannot? You do not belong in the stars, Chakotay. You belong here, with your people, in the earth, working the land. Carrying on the tradition of your ancestors."

"How did we get here? By the stars. In ships, with captains! I _am_ following my ancestors. Just not the way you want me to."

"Think of your family, Chakotay. Think of Sekaya. What will she do without her brother to guide her?'

"Sekaya will be fine. She needs to learn to stand on her own. Just like I do. I'm making it easier for her."

"Chakotay…"

"You can't change my mind. I came to tell you only because you're my father. Now goodbye."

"Do not forget the land of your birth, Chakotay. Do not forget the bones of your ancestors."

"Goodbye, Father."


	45. Chapter 45

Some days he could still hear her voice ringing in his ears like her namesake. Some days, all they had to do was activate him and he'd nearly double over with the agony.

Funny, how everyone saw him as an unfeeling lout existing only to patch them up and perform their miracles. How they would come to him with shuttered faces and glittering eyes and expect him to be sympathetic, and yet only Kes acknowledged the jagged edges to his programming that sliced him every time someone mentioned Naomi Wildman or their kids back home.

He supposed, if he were generous, that Mr. Paris saw his hurt, too, but he didn't really want to think about Tom right now. In fact, he didn't want to think of anyone right now.

Especially Belle.

He realized that, while their oblivion hurt, he preferred it that way, because most of them would probably just tell him to rescind the program and start over. From scratch, without B'Elanna's algorithms and without the memory of that foursome sundered into a threesome by the shrill beeping of a machine.

But Kes and Tom had been right. B'Elanna, too, if he were really honest. Real life… it just wasn't all lollipops and Band-Aids, as Mr. Paris so… uniquely… put it. Some days, he just had to press on.

Even when they activated him and he realized it didn't hurt anymore.


	46. Chapter 46

"Tom?"

"I'm fine."

_A lie._

"You're sure?"

"I told you I'm fine. Now bug off." _Part lie, part truth._ What was truth anymore?

Truth was this bottle, empty before him. "Bartender!" Truth was this word rough on his tongue, sharp in his throat.

"Give me the strongest you've got." Truth was knowing he wouldn't be able to walk out of this bar tonight.

Truth was the hungry teeth of the ground on his palms as he dragged himself to the pier, where everyone knew his name and no one knew his name. That is, no one knew his father.

He stared sullenly, dizzily, into the empty bottle, jerking back when the bartender thunked a new one onto the counter. "No more," he spat, giving him a fierce look with his one rheumy eye. "You go home after this, Tom Paris. Home."

Home. _That_ was the lie.


	47. Chapter 47

If he ever allowed himself to feel emotion, it was when he thought of Vulcan. Of the homeworld where the desert sands whipped like a sun-blasted scourge, chafing unprotected skin and cleansing the wandering mind of its ill-discipline. Of a time when all was uniform and smooth, like the humping vision of the dunes, where things were ragged but sharp and sure, like the teeth of the mountains rising to clash with the brassy, full-born sky. Confusion did not exist, and clarity of heart was just as common as clarity of mind.

Vulcan, the land of his people, of the emotionless, the controlled, the calm and collected and stoic. The understood, and the understanding.

He missed Vulcan. _Missed_ it.


	48. Chapter 48

There was something about Naomi that put him completely at ease. The way her face lit up whenever he came to tuck her in, or the saucer-like quality to her eyes when he offered to let her help him in the kitchen. And of course, he loved to play with her in the Flotter holoprogram. She was just so… innocent.

Like Kes.

Except, not like Kes. Kes he had loved as a woman, albeit a fragile, naïve, and sorely underestimated one. And he had hurt himself, and her. With the jealousy. The over-protectiveness. The need to know everything all the time.

But with Naomi… well, he couldn't quite place it. There was just something about her, hidden in that precious spray of freckles or star-shine of a smile that urged him to surrender, to stop pacing and remaking lists and sit.

And be.

That was it. With Naomi, he was Neelix, plain old Neelix, and it was enough. Being enough was a good feeling. A very good feeling indeed.


	49. Chapter 49

"The least you could do is be happy, Tom! He's trying to reach out to you—can't you be thankful for that?"

"Thankful for what, B'Elanna? That he smiled at me on the viewscreen? Wow. How generous of him."

"Stop. You don't know what you're saying."

"Yes. Yes, B'Elanna, I do. I know _exactly_ what I'm saying! My father has spent the last three decades of his life criticizing every move that I make, and I'm not about to let a smile undo all of that! You don't know what it's like to come home with perfect grades in flying and get grounded for the B+ you got in grammar. You have no idea what it feels like to look at your father and know you'll never be able to hug him again because the sight of you sickens him. You don't know what it's like to _lie_ to him about how your three best friends _in the quadrant_ died, and all because of _your_ stupid mistake! You can't even—"

"Shut up!"

He stopped, mouth open, and stared. She was crying. B'Elanna, crying.

"Just shut up, Tom! You don't even know what you're saying, and you're hurting me. Stop it."

"Bee…"

"No. No. Don't apologize," she ground out. "Not until you mean it."

The doors hissed shut behind her with a finality even he couldn't shirk.


	50. Chapter 50

The door mocks him as he stares, unblinking, at its cool metal surface. He doesn't see, doesn't hear, doesn't know what's going on in the room around him (nothing, naturally), and all he can feel is this wild, gripping frustration at the memory of her retreating form. Gone, before he can do a thing about it.

Or can he even do anything, anymore? (Have I ever?)

he feels small. overlooked. unneeded and brushed aside, and all by a slip of a woman. But that's not true, because she's obviously… what?

He doesn't even know what he's thinking anymore. He doesn't understand, can't fit together why she made him her first officer when all she does is ignore him.

Why does he even try?


	51. Chapter 51

"What happened, B'Elanna?"

"Excuse me?"

"What happened to make you so angry?"

"I don't understand the question."

"You're angry, B'Elanna. Don't pretend you aren't. Now tell me why."

"With all due respect, _Captain_, I'd think that's a little obvious! We're stuck in a cave, losing air fast, and we haven't even a day's worth of food and water. Maybe you should be a little ticked as well, don't you think?"

"I'm not talking about today, Lieutenant. I'm talking about your past. What have people done to you—"

"You know what? I don't have to sit through this—this Spanish Inquisition. You may be my captain, but you are _not_ my mother, my father, or anyone else that blood and genetics obligates me to take seriously. I may be wearing this uniform, but am _not_ going to bare my soul to someone I barely know—someone who's _stranded us in the Delta Quadrant_ to save a race of people _we don't even know_."

"…I see."

"I suppose you're going to throw me in the brig when we get back now. If we get back."

"We'll get back."

"Yeah. I'm sure we will. Just in time for me to—"

"I won't put you in a holding cell, B'Elanna. Not for being angry. Especially on your birthday."


	52. Chapter 52

"Seven, you don't understand."

"You are correct. I do not. And I fail to see the purpose of your stating the obvious."

"Seven…" Janeway sighed. "I can see where you're coming from on this. But really, you have to understand—"

"Captain. I fail to see how I cannot understand something and then understand it in the very next sentence. Please explain."

A fine-boned hand rose to the Captain's forehead as she disguised a tremendous sigh as a light exhalation. Seven, for her part, stood several feet away, fingers curled loosely at her sides and ocular implant arched into her hairline.

"Listen carefully," Janeway said at last. "I don't know what kind of scrape you got into with Ensign Kim, but I want you to clear it up, and now. I won't have my crewmembers acting this way. Given Astrometrics' close work with Operations, your behavior is unacceptable. Clear it up, or I will. And believe me, you do _not_ want me stepping in. Now. Are we clear on this matter?"

A slight pause. Then: "Yes, Captain. I believe we are."


	53. Chapter 53

"Daddy, where are you going? Are you going to a conference again? Is that why you have so many suitcases?"

"B'Elanna… look, honey, I don't have time for this, okay? I've got to go. My car is waiting for me."

"But the hovercar is always waiting for you. It belongs to us, silly. You don't have to hurry."

"B'Elanna…"

"Are you sad? Daddy—why are you crying?"

"Let go, B'Elanna. I have to go. Just… trust me, okay? I have to go. Now."

"But Daddy! No! Don't leave me!"

"I said I have to go!"

B'Elanna gasped and cried out as her father thrust her away. His footsteps echoed heavily in the foyer, then fell silent after the door slammed. She stared, frozen. And then blinked.

"…Daddy?"

But he was gone.


	54. Chapter 54

She was going to die. If the seizing in her lungs wasn't enough, she could turn to the panic in her heart for confirmation. Wild, squeezing, bucking about in her empty chest like a shuttle in subspace eddies. Yes, she was going to die, and it scared her.

Not because she was dangling in space, speckled with a billion uncharted stars, and not because she'd die a coward's death (which she would; oh, she would). It wasn't even because she didn't want to die.

It was because she'd never told him.


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N:** Because my favorite character just died on LOST and I need some hope that not all the good ones get chopped.

* * *

><p>Flyboy, she called him. Flyboy. As if he'd leave her any minute. As if one day he'd wake up and realize she wasn't pretty, wasn't worth it, wasn't funny or charming or patient. Wasn't the woman he was looking for. Wasn't good enough for him. For Tom Paris.<p>

But then he'd look at her, with those eyes, and flash that goofy grin, or come home wearing that ridiculous leather jacket and tease about casting Miral as the next Arachnia, and she'd melt. Just melt.

It was silly. Naïve. Girlish and overrated and, she had to admit, totally cliché. But it was true. After seven years, he could still make her melt, just by looking at her.

Flyboy…

She might be afraid on the dark days, the long days, the hard days. But she knew, somewhere deep inside her, he'd never fly without taking her with him.


	56. Chapter 56

Kathryn fiddled with her mug, eyes distant, remembering a time long past.

'Don't be a stranger, 'kay?' Phoebe had said, blue eyes bright and trembling with the pain of parting. Just like every other time Kathryn had reported to Headquarters for a mission. But this time, it was different. She would be a captain now. Of her own starship. The thought sent a thrill down her spine, and she had to force the smile from her lips.

Don't be a stranger…

What had she said that day? It had been so long ago. So long… could five years really be this long?

Yes.

Don't be a stranger.

Her fingers slipped and burned against the too-hot porcelain. She yanked back with a hiss, shook it for a minute, and went right back to worrying the handle.

Some habits you just couldn't break.


	57. Chapter 57

**A/N:** For Alpha Flyer, who wished for some proto-P/T. :)

* * *

><p>"It's nice to have you back, Tom."<p>

"Yeah? Well, it's nice to be back."

Harry Kim regarded his friend's Friday-night-ease with the air of one unconvinced. "C'mon, Tom. Spill it. What happened down there?"

"Whaddya mean, Har?"

"I mean, what happened? You're different."

"Well sure I'm different. I only lost a man, lived on less-than-hospitable Vidiian cuisine for three days, slept on a bunk harder than tritanium, and almost…"

"Almost what?"

Tom heaved a sigh and hid behind his synthehol. "Nothing, Har. Nothing at all. It was just a rough mission, is all."

"It's B'Elanna, isn't it. Something happened down there. Between you two."

"Nice try, Ensign Eager."

"Don't lie to me, Tom. You might can fool yourself, but you can't fool me. You fell for her, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Tom Paris whispered, staring off into the stars. "Yeah, I guess I did."


	58. Chapter 58

"I wish he'd be proud of me, Sekaya. Just once, and I'd be happy. Really happy."

"You don't mean that, Chakotay."

"I do."

"Why?"

"Because. He hates me."

"That's not true, big brother. Father loves us. He always has."

"You maybe. But me? I'm a failure."

"Don't say things like that."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"How so?"

"You've seen the way he looks at me. Disgusted. Disappointed. Like he can hardly bear to breathe the same air as me. I'm a disgrace to him, Sekaya. Because I don't embrace the ways of our people."

"Brother… just because you do not say the _a-koo-chee-moya _each night with reverence does not mean that our father hates you. He's our father. He has to love us."

"Forced love isn't love at all."

"Well then, he… you're impossible, you know that?"

"I'm leaving."

"What? Going to Adah's house again?"

"No. I'm leaving the colony. Going to the Academy."

"But… you can't."

"Why not, Sekaya? He already hates me. Why not give him reason to?"


	59. Chapter 59

"Stop. Stop. Stop."

She practiced the word, tasting it like one of Neelix's concoctions. Her implants bucked up against furrowed skin, and she pressed her lips together, parted them, and closed them once more.

"Stop."

A curious word, it was. Why did she feel so drawn to it now?

Her humanity. That's why.

Had she been Naomi Wildman, she would have pitched a fit and summoned tears and a trembling chin. But Naomi Wildman she was not, and… tears were still too strange for her.

But this? This she could do.

"Stop."

It felt good on her tongue. Surprisingly so.

"Stop."

Seven nodded. She would implement it. Today. Because she was sick of them telling her what to do, where to be, how to act, what to expect. She was tired of being their pet project.

It was time she embraced her humanity.


	60. Chapter 60

_You're a failure, Tom, an embarrassment. _

_What scrape have you managed to get yourself into this time? _

_Well, son, congratulations on being the biggest disappointment of my life._

All silent, he heard the words every morning when he opened his eyes and looked at that uniform. It was a wonder he could wear it, considering all the nightmares it held, whether he'd been spilling juice on his father's or standing in his own and lying to an admiral's face about the formation crash and how he'd managed to get out of it alive.

Why did he put himself through this? he sometimes—often—wondered. What was the point in the torture? It wasn't like his father was there to see him. All that fancy flying and finagling out of the worst of situations—Owen Paris saw none of it. And he wouldn't, either. Because they were halfway across the galaxy.

And in some ways, even farther than that.

Funny, how you could swear yourself away from someone and still wake up each morning wishing they were there.


	61. Chapter 61

It is warm, welcoming, steady in its wavering, and he has missed it. Missed its flickering depths, changing like the ebb of the tide and returning like the flow, creeping up, up, up, and fattening down into the squat little man with the pointed needle hat. It dances sideways, upways, downways, then forward and back, and around, all in time with the music of the air, a movement so light that even he cannot feel it.

The pale flesh of his palms presses together, melding into the darker skin of his knuckles, the straight plane of his fingers flush against each other and pointing to it, the flame. The orange dancer and steady companion and anchor to the past, the present.

And the future.

He kneels. Unfolds his mind. Shakes it out. The beginning of return. The continuation of breath. The promise of clarity.

And the orange flame watches, dancing.


	62. Chapter 62

After Kes left, he'd known it would take time. Lots of time, perhaps. But time, after all, was just time. And Neelix was nothing if not patient (though some would argue vehemently in opposition to that claim).

What he hadn't known was _how_ long.

There were days even now, four years later, when he didn't believe she was gone. He could still _feel_ her, right down the corridor, or humming in the airponics bay, or even sneaking into the kitchen to make him a birthday cake when he wasn't looking.

But then he would wake up to reality, and life would grab him by the whiskers once more: Kes was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. Except hold her close each time she haunted his thoughts.

He'd vowed never to love a woman again—not like Kes—and he'd fully intended to keep that vow.

That is, until he met Dexa.


	63. Chapter 63

"So tell me, Starfleet… are you happy here? On _Voyager_?"

Harry frowned. "What makes you ask that?"

"Why not?" B'Elanna shrugged.

"It just seems like it would be a question you'd ask after a couple months. Not… five years."

"Well, if I remember correctly, I _did_ ask you after a couple months. And now I'm asking you again."

He sighed, a ragged sound. "Honestly? No. I'm not."

"Really?" her look was quick; her gaze, lingering. "Why?"

"C'mon. _Ensign_ Kim? How long is it going to take, B'Elanna? I've had this stupid pip for years now. Even the biggest flub in 'Fleet history would've made it to lieutenant by now."

"Why are you worried about it? It's not as if rank means anything on this ship…"

"Are you serious? It means everything."

"Well… yeah. I'll give you that. But not in the important things."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Like friendships. And laughter." She shot him a grin. "And pranks."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the encouragement, but I still want that pip."

"If it makes you feel any better, I just have two dashes…"

"Oh, shut up."

"Chin up, Harry. You'll get it get. I know it. For now, take comfort in the fact that Tom can't call you Ensign without it backfiring."


	64. Chapter 64

**A/N:** Part 1...

* * *

><p>"No, no. I should have remembered. This just seemed like an amazing opportunity. Pilots from all over—"<p>

"I said it's okay."

They fall softly from her lips, like the distant dong of a bell, a death knell no one takes the time to hear. Okay… why did she say that? Why did she lie… lie to both of them? But it's too late now, and he's looking at her, right down into her, and she has to keep pretending if she doesn't want to hurt him. _I said it's okay._

"Really?"

And she looks at him… traces his features with the brown paint of her eyes, trying desperately to keep her secret in—who is she kidding? she knows. Her eyes are wet. Too wet. She can't paint with them any longer, can't stand here and see his hope. Not when she's decided. Oh, but his hands, so soft on her waist, her shoulders, the memory of his lips on hers, tasting her in the hunger of parting— …

_Really?_

"The holodeck will always be here. This race won't."

It's because she loves him that she lets him go.


	65. Chapter 65

**A/N:** Part 2.

* * *

><p>"I almost broke it off, you know," she says, voice like rain on his skin. After fifteen years, he still can't get enough of it.<p>

"You what?"

"I almost broke it off. Between us."

"What? When?"

"Right before you proposed."

"…The race."

"Yes."

A quiet admission. His chest aches.

"I should never have done that to you. I mean, I know you went to all that trouble to line up the holodeck times. You even talked the Doc out of his tee time, for cr—"

She silences him with a kiss, the barest of brushes that's more breath than lips. "Shh. It doesn't matter now. I didn't do it."

He looks at her, slipping his palm beneath her hair to touch her cheek, feather her lips with his thumb. "I wouldn't have believed you if you had."

"…I know."

And that's all they need. _I know._


	66. Chapter 66

She hadn't expected to outlive him. Not when she was human, and he a Vulcan. It just wasn't… natural.

She thought of Admiral Kirk and Captain Spock, their friendship almost beyond legendary now, and lingered on the story of Spock's sacrifice. She pictured him as he brought halting fingers up to the glass, saluting his oldest friend a final time before surrendering to statistics, the impossibility of surviving so much radiation.

She'd never watched the news footage of it. That would have been too morbid. Like a history buff from the 22nd century watching actual footage of Anne Frank or the others in the Nazi death camps dying, had there been any, just to satisfy curiosity. There was a place in history for memory, for grave expressions and hitched breaths and silent tears, but now was not that time.

There had been nothing spectacular about his death. Nothing newsworthy—at least, not to the public. And she supposed she was grateful for that. But another part of her wished him to be remembered, to have done something worthy of legend and exaggerated retellings centuries after his death.

She wondered if Kirk had ever wished Spock's death to be less… dramatic. Less open and heroic, in order that his grieving might be private and personal, as all grief should be. But he hadn't had long to wish, she chided, because life hadn't been done with Spock yet.

She wished it had been the same with Tuvok.

The grave was solemn and silent before her, a simple plaque, just as he would have wanted. No wreaths adorned it, no flower vases brightened the headstone, and no mementoes scattered the sand underfoot. He was alone, barren, and Vulcan.

And she wouldn't take that from him. Not even now.


	67. Chapter 67

"I thought I told you to stay away from me."

"And I thought I told you I don't need anyone picking my friends for me."

"Look… Harry, this is all very nice of you and all, but I'm not the new kid in school. Heck, I'm not even the new kid in Starfleet. That's _you_. So why don't you do yourself a favor and back off? Trust me, you'll thank me in the end."

"Nineteen hundred, tonight, holodeck one. Bring your favorite program, if you have one. If not, we'll come up with something."

"Harry."

"You coming or not?"

"Look, I don't know what they told you about me, but it's probably true. Mostly. So stop being a martyr and scram."

"I'm not being a martyr."

"If you're looking for someone to play baseball with you in the sandlot, I'm not him. And I won't give you any cute nicknames like Torres did."

"I'm not, and it's not cute. Shut up and mind your own business."

"I could say the same to you."

"Well then do. But at least answer my question—are you coming tonight or not?"

"…Have you ever played pool?"


	68. Chapter 68

"I can't do this anymore, Miral."

"Can't do what?"

"This! Us. It's not working."

"I couldn't agree more."

"Something has to change."

"Yes."

"So… aren't you going to…?"

"What, John? What do you expect me to do?"

"Well I don't know. Maybe be more mature, for starters."

"_I_ am not the one with the problems."

"Oh, great—what have I done _this_ time, Miral? Stayed in the lab too late? Drunk a millimeter more coffee than allowed per month? Eaten with the wrong fork? Worn the wrong tunic? Is there a hair in my beard out of place? Or do you not like it, is that the problem? Can't stomach a man anymore because he decided to grow a beard. Come on, tell me. I can take it!"

"You're being foolish."

"_I'm_ being foolish? What about you? What about the way you treat me, day after day? Or the way you refuse to acknowledge my apologies, even when I'm not the one in the wrong? And what about our daughter, Miral? She can't take this much longer. Something has to give."

"I am a Klingon. We do not _give_."

"Well maybe you should try it sometime."


	69. Chapter 69

Each time she did it, she swore it would be her last. Just one more time… _once more, to make sure I'm still alive, and then I'll stop. I've got to, because they'll start asking questions, and then I'll have to lie, and I don't think I could hold up. _

Not because she'd never lied before—she just… wasn't invested in it. And when you weren't invested in something, you weren't very convincing. Just the thought of Chakotay, Tom, or the Captain—heck, even Harry—finding out told her she'd never be able to fool them.

And so she promised herself as she clipped through the halls toward the holodeck, that this would be the last time. She'd spend an extra-long session tonight beating up the Cardassians, rafting the rapids, and losing the Battle of Klach D'Kel Brakt. By then, she would be a wreck, but it would be late enough that no one would be in the corridors to see her. She'd make it back to her quarters and patch herself up, and it would never happen again.

Or so she said.


	70. Chapter 70

Three months, and he didn't think he could take it anymore. His throat was raw, his hands permanently blistered, his skin a sickly riot of black and gray and blood—three months and he was ready to die. Just die.

He stood gazing out at the horizon, or what he supposed had once been the horizon, and tried to pick out the smell of rot and decay from that of ashes and irradiated flesh. But it was no use. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't separate them. In fact, he couldn't smell _anything_ anymore.

It was time to give up.

_But no_, a part of him whispered, so fiercely that his whiskers shook. _No. You can't give up. Not now, and not ever. You have to put it back together again. You have to. For Palaxia._

But he was tired, so tired…

Neelix closed his eyes in agony, feeling the ache of loss thrum through him. Would it never end? Alixia, Palaxia, Trixa, Axa, Jirex, Wox, Frixin… and the list went on.

Opening his eyes, Neelix looked down, down at the ashy earth… And suddenly, the grieving Talaxian laughed, and wept, and laughed some more. Because there, at his feet, was a pale blue flower standing crooked in its skirt of ash.

It was the tiniest living thing he'd ever laid eyes on, and yet it was the most beautiful. Because it was hope in the hopeless and life in the barren, and… a miracle.

_You've done enough_, it whispered to him, like a breeze along his skin. _Go now, and let me do the rest. Life will still come to this moon. But you… you must seek yours out._

And so Neelix went.


	71. Chapter 71

He transferred to the holodeck as high-strung as a sonic sound wave, photons buzzing with stress and frustration. Had he been a lesser hologram, he would have asked someone to delete such unpleasant subroutines. But lesser he was not.

He would struggle through these emotions and he would emerge victorious. Just when he thought he would shimmer into oblivion from the stress of triage with the Captain breathing down his neck—or, worse yet, lying on his biobed—he would push out of the depression and burst into celebration.

But for now—

for now, he would console himself with an aria. In the minor key…


	72. Chapter 72

There were times when even his clarinet couldn't help him. Music… his first language, the one he breathed, the one he dreamed, the one he whispered to himself when the darkness closed in tight—when even his music couldn't help him, he knew something was wrong.

Five years were wrong, that's what. Five years, a lonely pip, and three too many broken hearts later, he was still far from home. Too far.

He blinked away from the viewport and down to the gleaming surface of his clarinet. He hadn't played it in months, and now it felt stiff, lifeless under his fingers. He imagined it was his coffin, ready to launch into the stars. But even that… no. It was just tired. A lump of metal gone cold.

Would it never end?

"I miss you, Mom… and Dad. I'm sorry I never… I'm sorry I didn't give you a proper goodbye. I promise I'll give you one when I get back. If… I get back."


	73. Chapter 73

She should have been terrified, waking up in the Collective. But oddly enough, she wasn't. Of course, fear whispered to her, snaked in and out of her stomach in sensuous coils that she longed to flee but couldn't. It was always there, ready to grab her by the throat if she let her thoughts stray even the tiniest of bits.

But she was Seven of Nine no longer. She'd been Seven of Nine two years ago, when Janeway severed her from the Borg, leaving her alone and barren and crumbling in a holding cell.

Now, she was Seven. Seven of Nine by name, and Seven—plain Seven—by choice. She was a valued member of _Voyager_'s crew, and she wasn't about to let them down.

Not even when facing the Queen.


	74. Chapter 74

The air sparkled with the clink of silver and china, dappled with smiles and hung with garlands of laughter. Children dashed about like bees from one flower to the next, giggling and shouting and generally being the cutest headaches in the history of the Federation. Spouses relaxed in each others arms or told stories with their eyes, and everyone took turns reminiscing.

"Remember that time when…"

"…the prank on Tuvok…"

"—the telepathic pitcher plant."

"…giant germs and—"

"—that clown! Ugh, what a nightmare."

"Nightmare? You should try the…"

"…Hey, Bee, remember that time when I kissed you in the—ow! What was that for?"

"For telling me to shut up, flyboy."

"Speaking of shutting up, I distinctly recall a number of occasions when one of you so rudely shut off my—"

"Oh, Doc, it was all in good fun…"

"Mommy when's dinner?"

"Chakotay, would you pass me that—"

"…social lesson 4 over a glass of nutritional supplement…"

"Take the cheese to Sickbay!"

"…Doc and his hyposprays."

"Let's not bring that one up, shall we? I wasn't myself…"

"Remember when…"

"Daddy, what chapter are we on in Captain Proton?"

"Miral! You weren't supposed to tell!"

Janeway leaned back with a smile, champagne abandoned for the more familiar mug of coffee, steaming just enough to tease her senses and conjure images of her ready room. As much as she loved the Alpha Quadrant, this was home. This was family, and she couldn't help feeling a bit empty when they all left. But they'd be back.

And home would find her once more.


	75. Chapter 75

I sigh, and it is an exhalation of love, a promise of what's to come, a tribute to the past. It is a beautiful sound, simple and complex at once, and gloriously freeing through it all. My time-thought-memory smile is wide and full as I follow the scarlet thread woven throughout my friends' lives. The intricate dance of eternity…

I have watched them laugh and grow, held their tears long after they dried—or long before they fell—and twined myself through them and in them and around them, all because I love them. I have come to see them as children—my children—though I do little to help them now. Sometimes, watching is all that you can do.

Sometimes, it is the best that you can do.

I touch each of them with a smile, a slip of laughter, a sparkle in their eyes as they turn to greet the ones they love. I give them what I can, and what I can't give them, I watch as they find it themselves, often through tears and hardship and long lonely nights spent at the viewport with listless instruments or watching a warp core with powered down toolkits.

I watch them because I love them, and they are a part of me, woven and thrumming through this vast, churning existence that is mine. Yes… I love them. So very much.

They will not be forgotten, my Voyager family. Not be forgotten at all.

_Continue_


End file.
